


Echo Zones

by woollen_pharaohs



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: (mild because it's harmless weed), Flashbacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mild substance abuse, Missing Scene, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, in-text hyperlinks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-04
Updated: 2017-07-04
Packaged: 2018-11-23 07:28:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11397891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woollen_pharaohs/pseuds/woollen_pharaohs
Summary: Prompt:Let's pretend that during the events of Mac Day, Charlie and Country Mac get some time alone and discuss religions, childhood and rats- and find out they have more in common than they'd think. Something sweet and rated T is preferable, and hinting at Mac/Charlie in the past (or teasing it for the future) would be nice.





	Echo Zones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peskyfeelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peskyfeelings/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by [peskyfeelings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peskyfeelings/pseuds/peskyfeelings) in the [SunnyRarePairs](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SunnyRarePairs) collection. 



****

_Mac pulls the neck of his shirt up and holds it against the bridge of his nose as he delves into the shed. His Dad’s a hoarder. Not a bad one since he manages to get his hands on real good stuff. Mac’s favourite thing ever has been the stacks of records his Dad had picked up from a thrift store interstate. He remembers when his Dad had arrived home with the pickup packed with milk crates with the records wedged into every conceivable gap, much to Mac’s Mom’s chagrin. Half the stuff was disco and funk, music no one (openly) listened to in a country town, but Mac had always loved his Dad’s bargain purchase not for the music, but for one thing. Or rather, 36 individually sleeved records of the soundtrack to_ ‘[Bloodsport](https://images-na.ssl-images-amazon.com/images/M/MV5BNTJmMGEzMTQtMzQzMi00YjE1LWI4MTctNjY0NWZiYzE2MDVhXkEyXkFqcGdeQXVyMTQxNzMzNDI@._V1_UY1200_CR69,0,630,1200_AL_.jpg)’ (1988) _starring Jean-Claude Van Damme which, when arranged in the right order, displays a gigantic poster of JCVD karate kicking his opponent in the face._

 _It’s_ awesome _, but until he and his Dad get around to sorting out the shed, there isn’t any room to display it. He’s had to argue with his Mom that if she’s allowed to keep her pop records inside the house, then he’s allowed to keep 36 copies of the same record in the shed. What’s fair’s fair. If only his room was big enough to showcase it, but then he wouldn’t have enough wall space to display all the other badass posters he has of ripped dudes. Later he might tile them out in the garden for City Mac and his friend to see. They could listen to the soundtrack while they practice martial arts together like he and his cousin did when they were small kids. Might be some better entertainment for that kid his cousin brought along with him._

_Mac’s deep into the shed so he barely hears his cousin bellow out to him, “Hurry up dude, it’s boiling out here!”_

_“Chill out, man, I’m almost there!” He calls back._

_He had hidden his bikes in the nook behind the gigantic tent case his Dad had swiped from an army base which shut down and relocated up north. The tent is Mac’s second favourite thing. When the tent is put together, it’s like the size of a good house! Came with these roll out futons too an pop out frames so you can make three sets of bunk beds to fit inside the tent. It’s always a winner at the family get togethers, so long as the City Folk take the time to come out to the country._

_Mac loves the tent but he also loves the case. All these initials and crude drawings scratched into the wood. He runs his fingers along the arrow he’d carved in himself which points to the corner of the shed where he finds his old bikes collecting dust. He’d had to hide them from his Mom not because he thought he could still ride them but for sentimental value, you know, he had some real good times on these dirt bikes growing up. He can’t just throw them away since he never had a kid brother to pass it down to, only his cousins in the city who barely ever visited anyway. Which is why his Mom wanted him to donate his bikes, but good thing he never did because they’re coming in handy this weekend._

_Mac catches his T-shirt between his teeth and breaths out of his mouth as he walks the two bikes, one in each hand, out through the maze of collectibles toward the rolling door. The contrasting light is so bright that the gap beneath the roller door looks like a single white rectangle of light, as if he’s about to step onto a fighting ring with a roaring crowd surrounding him. When he passes through, the light violently evens out to the dry landscape of his country town home._

_Squinting, he hands the smaller bike to the scrawny kid who’s shaking in the sunlight like he’s never been exposed to the midday burst, and then lays the other bike on the ground when City Mac doesn’t take it from him straight up._

_Mac turns around and yanks the roller door shut._

_“I want your bike,” City Mac states._

_“Bro, these_ are _my bikes,” Mac replies as he wanders to the side of the shed and collects his bike that he’d left leaning there._

 _City Mac shades his eyes with his hands and pleads, “But I want your_ new _bike. It looks_ way _cooler.”_

_Mac looks down at the clean red frame of his bike. “Dude, I’d let you have it but I can’t fit on your friend there without my knees hitting the balls of my hands and that’s nothing I want happening on a Sunday under the eyes of God.”_

_City Mac grimaces, “Ew, dude, that sounded so messed up!”_

_Mac laughs. He brings his bike down the gentle dirt slope to the group and swings a leg over the frame. He catches City Mac giving him a dirty look._

_“Come on, cuz. Yeah, the bike’s caked in dust but I’ve pulled off some real badass stints on those wheels. The dirt’s a mark of how_ cool _of a ride it is,” City Mac doesn’t seem convinces so Mac adds, “Think about it this way. It’s a trophy. And what do trophy’s do? They sit on a shelf collecting dust until you take them out for a shiner. That’s what you’re doing right now. You’re polishing my prize winning bike.”_

_Satisfied with his speech, Mac pushes off out of the laneway. Behind him he hears one pair of wheels skid over the dry dirt. He turns to see City Mac nodding grimly._

_“That makes sense.”_

_Mac does a loop to let his cousin catch up to him and calls out to City Mac’s friend, “Hey, what’s your name again?”_

_City Mac glances at his friend, exchanges something inaudible to Mac, then replies, “His name’s Charlie.”_

_“Hey Charlie, you better not be straying behind to check out my ass!”_

_“Cuz!” City Mac chokes, “You can’t say that!”_

_Mac chuckles and kicks off down the laneway toward Mr Clearmont’s farm, the two guys following behind him. City Mac’s such a square that it’s far too much fun for him to try and soften him up a little. Besides, the mood needs lightening considering what Charlie’s been through. Or, he’s guessing that it does. His parents didn’t really go into the details. They only told him that City Mac had been staying with Charlie’s Mom and something, in his Mom’s words: ‘_ Worrying _’ had happened, which meant that City Mac and his friend would be staying in the country for a few days while it all blew over._

 _He’d been instructed to be on his best behaviour, which to Mac means showing these guys a_ real _fun time._

 

“Do you remember when we broke into Mr Clearmont’s orchard? We played him _twice_ that week and he didn’t even know it,” Country Mac reminisces.

Charlie shakes his head. “Dude, you are stoned to shit.”

Charlie takes another hit then holds the joint out for Dee, but she doesn’t take it. He turns around and through the haze, he realizes that the Planetarium hall has all but emptied out except for Country Mac, a dozing Frank, and himself.

“Where the hell is everybody?”

“You’ve done one too many drugs, my guy,” Country Mac climbs over the empty seat beside him and takes the joint from Charlie’s fingers. “My cuz went to find where the twins disappeared off to.”

“What? When?”

Country Mac shrugs. “About twenty minutes ago,” Country Mac adds with a grin, “He got asked to leave for shouting too loud during the science guy’s speech.”

Charlie frowns, and presently, Frank snores so loud that it echoes in the empty hall.

“I must have spaced the hell out… Man, Mac must be freaking out.”

“Hey, stay for a bit,” Country Mac puffs out smoke, “He’ll be alright.”

 

 

_Mac slinks along the brush, hanging tight to the glass enclosure around the orchard. He waves at his friends to stay low too, sends them a signal to be quiet and can’t help smiling while doing it since Mr Clearmont doesn’t have any form of security. He has a dog but she’s old and friendly and would sooner clamber over to Mac to get a belly rub than to try and crunch off his foot. Still, he was not expecting Mr Clearmont to actually be patrolling the grounds that sunny afternoon and he’s not sure how the guy’s going to take seeing two teenagers and a kid scrabbling around in the short brush with fistfuls of pot shoved into their pockets._

_“Dude,” City Mac hisses, his face completely red, “How the hell are we going to escape? There’s nothing to hide behind!”_

_Mac glances from the glass orchard to the fence and then to the tall evergreen they’d parked their bikes under. It’s certainly a distance. Open, too. Nothing that they could dart between like stealth ninjas, just an empty field of mottled muddy weeds where Mr Clearmont had tried to sew a rice farm until he realized just how much water was involved. The aftermath of the flooding attracted a rodent plague, and when the water dried up, it left a huge chunk of his land flattened and swampy like it had rained for a month but only on that one spot._

_After a thing like that, you’d think the guy would give up farming for good, but Mr Clearmont, an enterprising man, still has his shot at a fruit farm, and the grain silos on the west end of his farmstead beside the stables. Mac’s Mom always jokes that Mr Clearmont is the hoarder of farms. The guy has tried to do too many types of things rather than specialising, and has ended up with remnants of plans scattered across his property but nothing to match. Still, Mac can’t help feel sorry for the guy. The whole - trying to make a rice paddy field – fiasco now has him ostracised from community events as a consequence for bringing in the rodents. The guy was just trying to be different. Granted, he ended up going about it in a dumb way. Mac thinks he’d probably feel a little guiltier about stealing from Mr Clearmont if the man wasn’t so painfully oblivious…_

_Charlie’s voice sounds hollow when he speaks. “He’s on the other side of this wall…”_

_Mac looks up and just above their heads, the transparent window set into the frame of the orchard greenhouse reveals the backside of Mr Clearmont’s head. Mac’s heart beats in his throat. Any second Mr Clearmont’s going to turn around and see their figures against the translucent wall and Mac is going to have to explain to the guy why he’s sneaking around with ‘weeds’ in their pocket._

_Or, he could not do that._

_“RUN!”_

_He kicks off first._

_“Is there someone there?” Mr Clearmont says from within the greenhouse._

_“COME ON CHARLIE!” City Mac shouts._

_His feet pound heavy on the muddy ground. He can hear haphazard squelching from behind and he chances a look over his shoulder. He sees City Mac and Charlie running hand in hand across the field, Mr Clearmont’s shadow emerging from the greenhouse… Mac focuses on the fence and bolts as hard as he can toward the evergreen. His friends stagger and fall behind on the slippery ground. Mac easily jumps the fence and kicks onto his bike, catches his breath for a moment once he realizes Mr Clearmont’s not chasing after them._

_He eyes Mr Clearmont standing outside of his orchard, staring him back, so Mac slinks further into the shadow of the tree and hopefully he’s too far away to be recognised by that point anyway. City Mac and Charlie barrel over the fence, the two of them smothered in mud and he watches City Mac push Charlie onto the seat of his bike before he’s pedalling back down the laneway alongside his friend._

_By the time they all arrive back at Mac’s porch, they collapse onto the concrete steps panting and laughing and gushing at their successful theft._

_“Do you think he saw us?” Charlie gasps._

_“Oh yeah, he_ definitely _saw us!” City Mac pants, distressed._

 _“He won’t know it’s us,” Mac reassures, “He doesn’t even know who you two_ are _.”_

 _Charlie lays back awkwardly against the steps, soaking in the cold from the shaded concrete. “Dude, that was_ awesome _.”_

 _City Mac runs his hands through his hair. “Was it? Was it really such a good idea? Guys. We just did something illegal, to_ steal _something even more illegal. How is_ that _badass?!”_

_“It’s totally badass,” Mac and Charlie say in unison, laughing when they realize that they had._

_“Chill out cuz,” Mac says, “I’m going to hang what we got up and dry it out and you can take it all back with you to the city.”_

_“WHY WOULD I_ DO _THAT?”_

_“So you can sell it, dummy,” Mac explains, propping his elbows behind him on the highest step. “This is prime weed. City folk are gonna pay a pretty buck for it and then you can, you know, help your Mom out a little.”_

_Charlie lifts his head and shares a look with City Mac. “If you can sell enough maybe you could help me pay for…”_

_“But… it’s illegal,” Mac says._

_“Yeah well so are a bunch of other things and people still do it…” Charlie mutters, “And get away with it…”_

 

 

“This is some solid weed, man,” Charlie comments.

“You really don’t remember?”

Charlie blinks. “Remember what?”

“This weed. Twenty years on and it’s still the best in the world. I got it special for you city folk since I remembered how much you loved it the last time you were in the country.”

Charlie blows a raspberry. “Nah, that’s bullshit dude. I’ve never been out of Philly.”

“Bro, I wouldn’t blame you. It _has_ been almost two _decades_ since we last saw each other. And man, I’ve never seen a kid huff as much glue as you do.”

Charlie frowns. “Glue’s good.”

“Yeah man, my Mom told me that you and my cousin got caught with glue sticks shoved up your noses, and that’s why you came all the way out to visit. A free version of rehab – guess I ruined that, huh?”

 

 

_Mac slings his backpack over his shoulder and says a quick farewell to his cousin and friend before heading down the hall._

_“Country Mac! Hey, wait up!” Charlie calls out of City Mac’s room._

_Mac stops, chuckling at the nickname his cousin’s friend had just donned him._

_“Sorry little dude,” Mac says to Charlie jogging down the short hallway. “I’ve gotta go to work today.”_

_“Let me come with you!”_

_“Charlie?!” City Mac calls from the guest bedroom._

_“Come on, bro, I don’t wanna be cooped up in this house all day. It’s hot and stuffy and this sunburn is making me all bleurgh,” Charlie barks shrilly, “I gotta get out!”_

_Mac nods and stops by his cousin’s room again. “It’s alright with me if it’s alright with you, cuz.”_

_“No, Charlie!” City Mac whines, “You’ve gotta stay with me…”_

_Charlie rubs his hands over his arms and down his legs too and then back to his face and all through his hair as he moves into the room to talk to City Mac._

_Mac hears his cousin say, “I’m meant to protect you…” and so he quietly excuses himself._

_Outside, he picks up his and Charlie’s bike and takes them down to the water tank and hoses down the mud caking the frames. The heat is hot enough today that the water will dry off in time to go, not that they aren’t going to get dirty again, but it’s the principle of the thing. Maintenance and all. He does feel guilty about his cousin and friend though. He had just assumed that the city folk, with their city education, would be smart enough to lather it up with sunscreen._

_They had all tried to make City Mac and his friend as comfortable as possible. His Mom set up buckets of cold water and damp rags and Mac had left a big bottle of aloe Vera for his cousin to rub on himself if he was still feeling the searing burn. His Dad had pulled out a nice rotating fan from the shed that no one was using too so the sunburnt boys really had a real sweet set up. Although he doesn’t blame Charlie for not wanting to just sit around like a princess. A sunburn isn’t the end of the world anyway. And if City Mac is lucky, he will have the good McDonald genes which turns sunburns into tans. All he’ll have to do is put up with the burn and then by the time he needs to return home, City Mac’s going to look like a buff bronzed badass._

_“I’M NOT PRACTICLALY THE SAME!”_

_Mac cringes at City Mac’s annoyed tone of voice which darts out of the open window. He supposed he hadn’t meant to eavesdrop, it just so happens that the guest room window has a gloriously dull view of the water tank._

_“FINE. GO THEN. I DON’T CARE.”_

_A door slams shortly after, and Charlie appears on the front door step._

_“There’s some sunscreen on the stool beside you!” Mac calls out._

_He continues to hose down the bikes, watching Charlie turn left and right until he finds the little bottle of sunscreen. Maybe it’s just the distance between them but the kid looks so small up on the porch. Mac remembers whenever his Uncle Luther would visit with the City McDonald family, he would always complain that their house was made for goblins and midgets. Mac had only ever really come to understand that phrase this year when his growth spurt had kicked in and yeah, the doorways are far too low in his house. ‘Course when you’re as small as a kid, or even Mac’s own parents, the dimensions of the house fit just right._

_“Don’t forget to do behind your ears, kiddo!”_

_Mac turns off the hose and wheels the two bikes out of the shade cover and into the sun. He peers out at the porch. Even shaded, Charlie looks as red as City Mac. He has an inclining that maybe his cousin is putting on a bit of a show inside if Charlie’s able to power through it so easy. Wouldn’t put it past his cousin. McDonalds love a good dramatics._

_When Charlie comes over to meet him, Mac notices Charlie’s wearing a shirt with moth holes riddled throughout and denim shorts ripped at the knees, exposing red kneecaps like a pair of those weather worn hazard reflectors you see marking the sides of the road._

_Mac offers the trembling kid his bike and swings a leg over his own._

_“You good, man?”_

_“Yeah, let’s move.”_

_They kick off together, shoes rubbing damp squeaks against the drying bike frames. Mac rides just ahead to lead. They glide down the laneway they’d rode on the previous day, and when the glistening greenhouse comes into vision, Mac hears Charlie’s tires slow down on the gravel._

_“Isn’t that-”_

_“It’s cool dude,” Mac insists, “Even if he knew it was us, he’s not going to do anything. Trust me.”_

_Charlie’s voice sounds hollow and distant behind him. “How do you know?”_

_Mac slows. “I_ guarantee _that Mr Clearmont doesn’t even know that what he’s got growing there is weed. It’s there for the taking,” He pauses, “I guess it’s a give/take relationship. I take his weed, and I give him help by working for him in my free time.”_

_Mr Clearmont trusts Mac enough to let him have access to the silos paddock entry, so Mac heads straight for the gate there, and takes Charlie down to the stables where Mr Clearmont stores his tools. They leave their bikes leaning against an empty fodder trough. Mac enters the stable briefly, returning with two bb guns. He hands one to Charlie and the kid looks miniature compared to the gun, and yeah, it’s the second time he’s noticed the kid’s stature in one day but it’s only because he looks so obtuse in a strange, endearing way. One of the stranger conclusions Mac has come to considering the kid’s dressed in ragged clothes and shaking and sweating like a lobster that’s being boiled alive._

_Mac quickly shows Charlie how to use the gun. It’s just a simple pull-back, trigger action rifle, nothing too complicated. When Charlie’s got the hang of it, he takes the kid over to the silos._

_“Before I let you in, promise you won’t tell any grown-ups that I let you hold a gun, okay kiddo?”_

_“Hey man, stop calling me ‘kiddo’ and that,” Charlie says, “I’m not a kid.”_

_Mac stops by the big curved doors of the grain silo. “Oh yeah, how old are you?”_

_“I’m 17,” Charlie replies._

_Mac does a double take. “What?? How are we the same age?”_

_“Yeah,” Charlie winces, “I guess because I’m short. So what are we shooting?”_

_“Huh?” Mac mumbles, still putting two and two together._

_Charlie lifts the bb gun._

_Mac pinches the bridge of his nose for a moment, lets go, and a wide grin smears his face._

_“We’re shooting rats.”_

“You still bashing rats?”

Charlie frowns. “Yeah… how did you know that?”

He quickly does a pat down of himself to double check that he hasn’t left a rat on him. Sometimes he forgets that he’s tucked an animal into the pockets of his jacket, but then he remembers that Mac had made them all wear cut offs for Mac Day. So how does Country Mac, who he has just met for the first time ever, know so much about him?? For a moment he seriously considers taking up religion if God is gossiping about him to his followers. It might help him get a leg up on stalking The Waitress.

“Man, I’ll never forget how many you bashed up that year. You bashed _hundreds_ with the stock, so many that it _bent_. I had to bury it so Mr Clearmont wouldn’t find out we wrecked his shit…” Country Mac laughs, then repeats incredulously, “ _Hundreds_ man. I swear I’ve never seen that many dead rats that weren’t dead from poison.”

“Yeah, I mean, you can kill rats with poison but that’s like, submissive, you know? You’ve gotta bash the shit out of ‘em. Dee always says, ‘Oh but it attracts more rats that way’, but she’s wrong. … She’s right, but she’s _wrong_. Bashing rats is also way more fun than poison… Do you have an infestation problem or something, because I’ll let you borrow my rat basher… just ignore the yellow goopy stuff on some of the spikes, it’s not going to come off no matter what you try and do.”

Country Mac talks passed him, just like Mac. “I had to go to the dentist in the city _three_ times ‘cause of the giant bag of stone fruits Mr Clearmont gave me as pay. I might have uh, sucked on far too many hard nuts that summer.”

“Dude, what are you talking about?”

“Oh shit, remember how you didn’t know what a persimmon was?!”

Country Mac clutches his stomach laughing and Charlie looks at him. Frank’s haphazard snoring hangs in the air behind him. Honestly, Charlie is finding it hard to follow the conversation so he just catches on to the last thing Country Mac had said.

“Dude, what the hell is a purse cinnamon?”

 

 

 _“What do you even do here? It’s so_ boring! _” Charlie sighs._

_Mac shrugs. “There’s stuff.”_

_He and Charlie walk down the back streets behind the centre of town, kicking stones and checking out the abandoned lots behind empty shop fronts._

_“There’s stuff!” Charlie mocks. “There’s weed, at least.”_

_Mac winks before he snatches the joint he’d rolled for Charlie. “What do you guys do in the city then, huh?”_

_“Oh man, we get up to all kinds of shit,” Charlie starts. He picks up a handful of gravel and pegs the small stones one by one at a burnt out husk of a car along the side of the road. “One time, Mac and I hijacked a car and-”_

_“Hey, that’s illegal!” Mac says gruffly._

_Charlie laughs, “Well, you know Mac and his double standards. Anyway, it was a_ sick _car. This sleek red mustang someone had rolled in from interstate. The coat hanger thing? Totally worked!” Charlie starts to wheeze with laughter, “Oh man, Mac got in the driver’s seat and-” Charlie chokes out the last few words, “-Realized it was manual and couldn’t drive!”_

_Country Mac squints as he teeths the joint. “I’m ashamed. A McDonald should know how to drive stick shift at his age.”_

_He glances at Charlie, and the way Charlie smiles when he laughs – Mac can’t help but join in too._

_The barbed wire fencing beside them falls away to a cut away entrance leading into a deserted lot behind what was once a mechanic’s shop. It’s one of Mac’s favourite places in town. Someone long ago came in and did a bunch of shitty graffiti practices on the brick walls, really lightens the place up a little. A couple of leather seats that look like they’ve been plucked straight out of a car as if they were made of paper sit arranged around a cold fire pit._

_Mac and Charlie sit down together on a strip of the car seats and share the remainder of the joint between them. Mac tells Charlie the story of the kids who used to hang out here. Everyone who lives in this town knows their story. The kind of thing that happens every five years anyway. Teenagers taking a joy ride in their Daddy’s pickup, only they’re riding in the back tray along the uneven ground of the farm, no seatbelts or rope tying them down. One wheel hits a depression in the ground at just the wrong angle, sends the pickup rolling over and over. And if those kids don’t slip right out, they get crunched into the dirty anyway. Just kids trying to have fun and not knowing that you can’t see everything before you._

_Mac finishes off the joint and puts it out with his foot. He tells Charlie, “I’m glad you came to visit.”_

_Charlie glances at him. Mac can feel the heat of Charlie’s knee against his, and the sticky warmth of the leather seats beneath them._

_“There aren’t a lot of kids around here who are my age so…” Mac adds awkwardly._

_“It’s uh, good timing I guess,” Charlie says, “I’m pretty sure my Uncle Jack’s visiting my Mom right now… I hate that guy.”_

_“Hate’s a strong word, dude.”_

_Charlie abruptly gets off the seat. He drives his hand into the gravel and chucks all the rocks at once, letting the tiny stones scatter over the ground._

_“We should do something,” Charlie says indignantly._

_Mac lays down on the seat and peers up at the night sky, the stars twinkling so bright and low that he feels like he could reach out and catch a star in the palm of his hand._

_“Like what?” Mac asks._

_A second later, Mac’s looking up at Charlie’s face, shadowed by the night and outlined by the moon._

_“Let’s steal something. Something_ big _.”_

_*_

_It’s maybe the dumbest idea in the world but here they are, bolting down the main street with the giant town clock’s hour hands hoisted over their shoulders like they’re carrying crucifixes. The strangest thing about it is that the hands aren’t even that heavy. Must be made out of something cheap like plywood. It’s a wonder that that they haven’t already been blown off the face of the clock during a gentle breeze._

_It’s a challenge and a half getting the hands back home. The summer’s night breeze keeps pressing on the plywood and sweeping them aside, and neither of them can stop laughing their heads off about the time Charlie had fallen off his bike and the point of the hand jabbed into the soil and kept him upright._

_Mac rides ahead of him and calls back, “You better not be checking out my ass again!”_

_“So what if I am?”_

_Mac blinks at that response, a shiver running down his back, but he has to hush Charlie because they’ve reached his laneway. He leads Charlie up to the shed until the sensor light comes on and bathes them both in yellow. They both freeze in place. Hearts skip a beat. Cicadas buzz in the fields. But no noise from inside erupts and their secret mission can continue unabated._

_For now, Mac leans the hands on some boxes just off to the side of the shed. He’ll move them some place in the morning where his parents won’t be able to find them, before showing them off to City Mac._

_“Hey, I’m not ready to go to bed yet, can we stay out here…” Charlie calls out._

_Mac comes back toward the roller door and whispers, “Sh, sh, not so loud. We don’t wanna wake them.”_

_He nods at the main house and then sits down on the edge of the cut cement. He tugs at Charlie’s arm, pulling him to sit down beside him. He stretches out one leg and fishes out some weed and papers from his jeans pocket and starts rolling another joint._

_“This one will help us sleep,” He explains._

_At the exact moment that Mac triggers the lighter, the flood lamp above him goes out, causing Charlie to jump and latch onto Mac’s bicep. Mac chuckles with the joint between his teeth but after the momentary scare, Charlie doesn’t let go. Mac lights his joint and the small flickering flame diminishes. Fireflies dipping in and out of the long grass. Moths snapping at the lamp hung over the shed. Charlie’s warm hands around his arm._

_There’s something undeniably magical about this weekend. A surprise visit from his City Cousin, and his friend, who’s like a fairy who has come to him and blessed him with luck. He holds out the joint for Charlie to take. A hand lifts from Mac’s arm but instead of pinching the joint, Charlie cups Mac’s chin in his hand and kisses him. The airy, slinky feeling of his drug cakes his throat and he opens immediately into the kiss. Charlie’s other hand curls around Mac’s arm and palms across his lower back, one finger slipping beneath his waistband. With one hand still pinching his joint, he uses his other to reach for purchase on Charlie. Finds a shoulder, his fingers catch beneath the hem of short sleeves, briefly touches boiling hot skin before Charlie pulls back, panting heavily._

_A cold front splinters between them, and Mac tries to remain as outwardly comfortable and relaxed as possible._

_“Are you alright, dude?”_

_Charlie rubs his arms up and down. “Yeah, it’s just, uh, my sunburn. It kills.”_

_Mac swallows. He has to be careful about what he does next, and how he does it, because he wants to return some good luck to this gorgeous pixie of a thing without freaking him out. So he reaches out for Charlie’s thigh, a gentle touch. Charlie stills, looks at him. Mac holds his gaze. Messy brown hair with strands of amber against the spots of warm glows in the night; the fireflies, the distant lamp, the ring of burning fire around the tip of Mac’s joint. And the quiet that soaks into the desolate country._

_Beneath his palm, Mac feels Charlie’s thigh tense up, a twitch in Charlie’s cheek and so he moves his hand away. Closes his eyes with the intent on having another smoke until it’s Charlie’s lips on his again instead of the drug. He returns the kiss gently, feeling the situation, how Charlie trembles slightly, how he must be putting up with so much pain inside and out. Mac opens his body to Charlie, lets the guy sidle in close to access each other’s lips at a better angle._

_Mac runs his short nails through Charlie’s hair and, however short his fingernails, they still scrape over dry skin so he settles for holding the back of Charlie’s neck with his hand. As he gently massages Charlie’s neck, he can feel the heat coming off him, competing with the warmth of the night. A blush across Charlie’s cheek as red as the sunburn. Mac sighs as he opens his mouth to Charlie, feels Charlie’s small, plump tongue run against the underside of his lip before sliding across Mac’s tongue._

_Heat coils in Mac’s groin, he feels himself starting to perk up and he’s about to hoist Charlie onto his lap and get things going but, as if sensing the beginning of acceleration, Charlie pulls back._

_Parting leaves the both of them with mouths agape and breath coming in needy pants. Charlie gets to his feet and the sensor light floods the two of them in warm gold again. Charlie paces, starts rubbing his arms and Mac starts to feel anxious. He knows how weird his cousin is about being gay, but after being so skilfully kissed by City Mac’s friend, he was just starting to think maybe not all City folk are in deep denial… Too quick of an assumption._

_“Are you sure you’re alright?” Mac reaches out._

_Charlie keeps pacing. “Yeah. Yeah dude, I’m just tired.”_

_Or maybe something else is going on._

_Mac stands up too and, hesitantly, places a hand on Charlie’s waist as he says, “Come on, let’s go to bed then. I bet you wanna get a good night’s sleep for your last day tomorrow.”_

_Charlie swallows, then nods._

_*_

_The two of them lie on top of Mac’s bed sheets, the slow moving night breeze creeps into the room from an open window. Mac brushes his fingers through Charlie’s hair as the guy lays his head on his chest._

_In a half whisper, Charlie says sleepily, “You don’t kiss like him at all…”_

_Mac pops one eye open and can only just make the shape of Charlie’s face out in the darkness. “Um… thanks?”_

_“…Even though you look like him,” Charlie adds._

_Shortly after, Charlie’s breathing becomes heavy with sleep. Mac brings his hands together underneath his chin. An overwhelming sense of solidarity washes over him with the knowledge that City Mac and his friend are both finding their way. He hopes that the weed has helped Charlie sleep, and that the rest of it is going to help City Mac, and help Charlie too. He prays for them both, then prays for forgiveness for his and Charlie’s sins._

Country Mac’s fingers linger on top of Charlie’s as they pass the joint between each other. Frank keeps snoring. Charlie’s eyes are locked on their touching hands and he tries to ignore the commotion that’s occurring outside the hall. Some kind of metal banging loudly on the ground, people shouting, familiar voices.

“Hey man, you’re spacing out again,” Country Mac says softly.

Country Mac moves his rough skinned hand down to Charlie’s wrist, a weathered thumb pad brushes the underneath of Charlie’s arm, sending a stroke of shivers down his spine. Charlie’s throat goes dry, his stomach does a weird flitter thing like maybe it wasn’t a dead rat that he’d forgotten he’d had on him, but that he’d forgotten he’d swallowed a live pigeon which is currently flapping its feathery wings inside the caves of his stomach, making him feel light and ticklish and giddy. He chances a look at Country Mac, who has his eyes half lidded and cast down at Charlie’s lips, and the short distance between them gets smaller and smaller and Charlie feels his lips parting and Country Mac’s doing the same.

The door to the planetarium hall slams open and Mac crashes down the aisle with heavy boots.

“OH THANK GOD YOU guys are still here!!!”

They all jump at the sound. Charlie withdraws in on himself as if he’s been caught doing something naughty. Country Mac snaps back into his seat and clumsily tries to smoke shaky O rings. And Frank jolts awake mumbling about food and orifices.

“At least SOME people know how to follow the rules!” Mac says in irritation as he stomps through the empty seats towards his friends. “GOD DAMN IT FRANK WERE YOU SLEEPING??”

Mac yanks the pillow out from underneath Frank and hits him with it as he shuffles the man out of the seats and out toward the exit.

While Mac is busy with Frank, Charlie clears his throat and says, “Hey Country Mac… how come it feels like I know you?”

“Come ON, guys, you two as well! GET UP!” Mac orders, rushing back to Charlie and Country Mac, “I need to get everyone regrouped! COME ON I am freaking out, guys! I’m FREAKING OUT!!”

Mac grabs Charlie by the arm but Charlie yanks himself free.

“Hey, cuz, chill out,” Country Mac says in response, standing up.

Mac glares furiously at Charlie, refusing to look at his cousin, “Don’t get too close to him, Charlie.”

“Why, you were the one who invited him out here today,” Charlie snaps.

Mac tries to pull Charlie close to him as they exit the row of chairs, “My cousin’s cool and all but he’s twenty years pissed about how you ratted him out for stealing some small-town-big-deal thing or whatever.”

Charlie’s stomach drops. The whole time he had been talking to Country Mac, he’d had this weird feeling in his stomach, and the moment Mac had said ‘hands’, he realizes what it is. The face of his Uncle Jack flickers in his memory. Hands and a face obscured by darkness, cloaking Charlie’s lungs in a suffocating, claustrophobic feeling.

“See what you’ve done?” Mac says accusingly.

“No wait,” Country Mac says, folding his drugs away into his jeans pocket, “You don’t think I’m still mad at you, do you cuz?”

Mac panics. He wraps his arms around Charlie protectively and retorts, “No, I think you’re mad at Charlie.”

Country Mac steps over the back of the chair he was sitting on and comes towards Mac and Charlie standing in the aisle. “We were kids, man. Sure, it was Charlie’s idea but after you ratted me out, all I had to do was put in some community service hours doing stuff I was already doing.”

“What is he talking about, Mac?” Charlie mumbles.

Country Mac joins them, a little close, and Mac pulls Charlie in closer, presses Charlie’s forehead firmly against one shoulder.

“No, you have it wrong, I didn’t rat you out,” Mac insists.

“It’s all chill, man,” Country Mac shrugs, “I’m not mad at you anymore. I forgive you.”

“Fine, whatever, just go outside with the others. I made you promise me you wouldn’t bring up stuff from the past,” He gestures to Charlie, “And now look what you’ve done.”

Country Mac holds up his hands, “I didn’t do anything he didn’t want to do.”

Mac snaps, “BITCH I am STRESSING just wait outside already! I’ll explain everything tonight when we’re done with the Day’s activities.”

Shortly after, Charlie hears the large doors to the Planetarium shut, leaving him alone with Mac. His skin feels like it’s sentient, like it’s got a mind of its own and it’s going to crawl right off his skeleton and thank _God_ Mac is holding him because he thinks he might faint. He grips Mac’s shirt in his fist to steady himself as he looks up into Mac’s eyes.

“You’re saying… I did something… what did I do?” Charlie weeps.

Mac’s hand goes to Charlie’s waist and he says, “It’s nothing for you to worry about, just move past it.”

Charlie tightens his grip on Mac’s shirt. “I remember something bad…”

Mac purses his lips. “Dude, it was like, twenty years ago, around the time your uh… your Uncle Jack…”

“Oh man,” Charlie says, pulling away from Mac. Charlie fishes out a small stick of glue he had kept in his jeans pocket in the case of a boredom emergency during Mac Day celebrations and takes a good whiff of the glue before continuing with what he was saying. “I don’t remember _shit_ about that year.”

Mac claps Charlie’s shoulders and says, “That’s more like it,” Mac pauses, squints at the glue in Charlie’s hand and encourages Charlie to huff some more. “Come on, you are going to _love_ what I have planned for us next.”

Charlie closely follows Mac, hand in hand, until they get to the door and let go. Luckily for him, the brief whiff of glue is helping to accelerate the effect of the weed, a bubbly numbness taking over that dreadful feeling he had just unwittingly immersed himself in. And as he joins up with the rest of the gang, he feels his memory getting soft as he runs off his high, the noise around him filtering into a flat buzz, like the incessant hum of insects in the summer. He forgets what Mac had just said to him, lips close, concerned eyes holding him still. He forgets who Country Mac is again, and how the guy knows so much about him, and how he had felt when Country Mac had touched his hand. Rough like wood chips of a broken bat in comparison to the alcohol soaked soft hands of Mac’s. And he forgets why they’re in the Planetarium, and even what the real day of the week it is other than being Mac Day. All he knows is that he’s as high as a rat taking a joy ride on a ceiling fan and that he has a strange urge to watch _Bloodsport_. He looks forward to huddling up and watching old movies in Mac’s room, with Country Mac too, after the day is done.

 

**Author's Note:**

> pretty sure i checked all the boxes. Hope you liked it :D


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